


Out, Damned Spot

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle lazing the day away</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out, Damned Spot

Sprawled across the love-wrecked bed, Bodie smiled up at the ceiling as he gave a stretch of sheer well-being. Without needing to turn his head he knew Doyle was beside him; Ray was exuding a contentment so palpable that Bodie half-expected to hear him purr.

The contrast between present contentment and recent stress-filled months was so marked that it verged on the ludicrous. Life had been a tangle of half-admitted desires, which had intruded at the most inopportune moments, souring everything. Bodie had reached the point where he had considered leaving CI5 before he killed someone he wasn't supposed to: Doyle had been a prime candidate.

Bodie couldn't remember when it had changed, only that their becoming lovers had seemed as natural as breathing. Only when they were communicating on all levels had the world slipped back into focus, making them realise how long things between them had been out of kilter.

Viva sweet love, he thought with drowsy satisfaction.

Seeking a cooler portion of sheet, he rolled on to his side, smiling at the improvement to his view. Thoughts of sleep forgotten, he propped himself up on one elbow the better to enjoy the sight of Doyle, splendidly naked, adorning his bed.

The rumpled sheet bunched at his side, Doyle was splayed out in graceful abandon. Sun streaming through the open window tinted him amber and gold, highlighting the fuzz of body hair; a moist saltiness to his skin in the afternoon heat, he was as mouth-wateringly tempting as a ripe peach.

Seduced all over again, Bodie leant over his prize; as if for the first time he mapped contours with the dedication of an explorer.

Mumbling a vague interrogation, Doyle gave an irritable wriggle. One eye opened when Bodie paused in his ministrations.

"Don't stop," Doyle commanded, his voice a slurred mumble into the pillow.

"Thought you might object to being treated as a sex object."

"Liar. Just so long as you don't want me to do anything more energetic than breath, you can do what you like."

"That's lucky. I was planning to. Go back to sleep. I'll wake you if I'm starting anything interesting."

Licking the damp nape of Doyle's neck, Bodie traced across the thin-fleshed width of shoulder. An expression of delighted disbelief crossed his face.

"Ray..."

"Blimey, it didn't take you long to get your second wind. It obviously pays to let you have a lie-in." One hand settled blindly on Bodie's leg just above the knee and remained there, as of a right.

"I like your idea of a lie-in. It's gone three in the afternoon. We've slept the day away."

"You might have." Doyle roused enough to raise his head and turn the pillow in search of a cooler spot.

"What did you do?"

"Sat watching you most of the time." Doyle's tone was wry, inviting Bodie to share the joke.

"Oh. I hope I didn't snore." Bodie tried to sound nonchalant.

Doyle smiled into the pillow. "Not so far. Though you snuffled a fair bit. Quite endearing, if you like that sort of thing. Does it bother you - that I watched you sleeping?"

The touches drifting across his shoulders paused, then stopped before his rump received a solid kiss in the centre of each cheek.

"No. At least not much," amended Bodie honestly. "I suppose it's only fair."

"You've watched me sleeping? I didn't know."

Bodie gave a tensing buttock a light pat, enjoying the sweet resilience of the muscled flesh. "Well, you wouldn't, would you."

"I suppose not," Doyle allowed.

He felt the same bone-deep contentment he had felt since he and Bodie had become lovers. With Bodie he had nothing to prove and everything to gain. He was, quite simply, happier than he could ever remember feeling in his life before. He gave Bodie's leg a possessive squeeze.

"Oh, you're still with us then. I thought you'd nodded off."

"Nah. Just...I dunno. Drifting. Enjoying the peace. We're usually chasing round like blue-arsed flies."

"Speaking of arses," began Bodie in a thoughtful tone.

"We weren't."

"Blue-arsed flies," Bodie reminded him. "Anyway, stop interrupting. How come your bum is so tanned?"

"Because I sun-bathed." Doyle's tone was patience personified.

"When? I would have remembered if I'd been around. Never mind. It's probably best if you keep a bit of mystery."

Doyle's thumb continued to circle Bodie's thigh. "In case the novelty wears off?"

"Listen, mate, if I can survive four years of being teamed with you, novelty isn't the first word that springs to mind. You've got a very bite-able bum."

Bodie demonstrated, then took his time in licking the slight marks he had raised. "I like the way you taste."

"That's lucky because I can't do much to change it. What _are_ you doing?" Doyle added without anxiety, having finally realised that the faint, ticklish caresses drifting across his shoulders seemed to have a purpose.

"I'm joining up your freckles," replied Bodie in the tone of exaggerated reason that suggested the answer should have been obvious. He chose not to add that he was using a felt tip pen.

There was a short silence.

"I wish I could believe you were joking. Though I suppose I should have guessed. I mean, what else is there for you to do on our day off. Hang about." Doyle laboriously pushed himself up the better the study his lover. "I haven't got freckles. Have I?"

Doubt setting in, he first craned his neck, before attempting some appallingly convoluted contortions.

"You've got them all right. Just not where you can see them. Honest. They go with the chestnut highlights, I suppose. I used to think you dyed your hair. Never dared risk eyeing you up in the locker room or I would have known you were a natural red - "

Bodie broke off what he had been saying with a yelp.

"Careful! You've got the family jewels there."

"And your complete attention. Stop moaning. I haven't damaged anything."

"Yet," said Bodie with foreboding, pensively eyeing himself. He looked unconsoled by the thumb caressing him.

"Prat. I'm not likely to cut off my nose to spite my face, am I?"

Bodie winced. "You wouldn't like to rephrase that, would you."

Doyle gave an unsympathetic chuckle. "Nervous?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"No. But then I've got more sense." Releasing his light grasp, Doyle smoothed his palm down Bodie's inner thigh. "And the guarantee you'll be listening to every word I say."

"Oh, I will," Bodie assured him fervently. "What's up?"

"I have _not_ got red hair."

Staring at Doyle's determined profile, Bodie managed to swallow the first giggle but a second was already bubbling up. A splutter betrayed him before incoherence set in.

Leaning up on his elbows, Doyle waited with a mixture of resignation and affection until Bodie sobered.

Righting himself, Bodie rubbed his face, slid a wary look Doyle's way and, reassured, gave a wide beam.

"I'm not winding you up. You've got freckles. Though this is the first time I've ever noticed them. They're scattered across the top of your shoulders - but you've got to be within kissing distance to see them. I haven't noticed them anywhere else." He gave his companion a speculative look, but Doyle did not rise to the provocation.

"That probably means I don't have any others. Given the way you've comprehensively explored every inch of me, I'm sure you would have spotted - don't even think of saying anything - noticed them before now."

"Not to mention rechecking bits of you," Bodie reminded him with glee. "I don't know why you're so bothered."

"Kids of five have freckles. Blokes my age are supposed to have grown out of them."

"I dunno how you make that out. I like them."

Doyle looked singularly unimpressed. "I suppose it could be worse," he allowed with a weighty sigh. "I could have a freckled bum."

Bodie opened his mouth, caught a beady eye on him and closed it again.

"Very wise," said Doyle.

"Sacrilegious thought, that. Though I'd still love it," Bodie consoled, his palm sliding in great swathes down Doyle's back. "Same as I love your freckles."

As caresses continued to tickle his shoulders, Doyle added freckles to the list of his charms which Bodie had offered piecemeal over recent weeks. Reassuringly, it contained so many unlikely features, such as the nape of his neck and his double chin, that it was probably true. That he had embarrassed Bodie by offering his own list was, of course, a different matter.

"Kinky for freckles, are you?" asked Doyle idly.

"I have a frivolous fetish for freckles," announced Bodie, struggling to achieve sufficient alliteration. He sank back on his heels to admire his handiwork.

Basking in the attention which had been lavished on him, Doyle stiffened when he glimpsed the pen Bodie was setting down. He sat up in a disconcerting display of energy.

"Tell me you haven't been playing join my freckles with that pen."

Bodie gave him a pensive look before opting, with reluctance, for the truth: in the long run it was usually less bother.

"Gladly, only I'd be lying. I haven't joined them all up."

"That's a relief."

"It'll wash off."

"It had better." The amused resignation in the tranquil eyes reduced the impact of that warning.

"It's washable. Look." Licking a finger, Bodie rubbed a portion of Doyle's shoulder to demonstrate his point. After a few seconds he renewed his efforts; the bright blue ink didn't even smudge.

"Ah. Not to worry," said Bodie with a trace of unease. He belatedly turned some forceful rubbing into a caress.

His head turning, Doyle's unblinking gaze suggested modes of execution were being considered.

"It will come off," Bodie assured him, rubbing feverishly. "All it needs is some soap and water. I'll scrub your back for you."

"I know you will."

Sliding from the bed, Doyle headed purposefully for the bathroom. The legend on his back was all too legible. Remembering the large vanity mirror installed down one wall by a previous tenant, and which he couldn't be bothered to move, Bodie leapt after him, but his luck held. With the tunnel vision of one afflicted with graffiti, Doyle headed straight for the shower.

Standing beneath the spray, his hair already flattened to his scalp, Doyle caught and held his partner's gaze. Crooking a finger, he thrust a soapy loofah into Bodie's hands.

"Get scrubbing."

Leaning forward against the tiles, his feet firmly planted and legs just parted, Doyle rested his face on his folded arms. Water rolled down the muscled spine to crest the delicious rise of his buttocks, dripping from his genitals.

Bodie swallowed hard.

"What are you waiting for?" His head turning, Doyle's face seemed all heavy lidded eyes and inviting mouth.

Stepping under the flow of water, Bodie dropped set a proprietorial hand over Doyle's rump.

Unimpressed, Doyle hooked the soap from the container set into the tiled wall and handed it over.

"Get your hand off my bum and start scrubbing. I'm not going into CI5 wearing your logo on my back."

"No," soothed Bodie. "Leave it to me. I'll see to everything."

Rubbing gingerly at the first letter, Bodie wondered if it was his imagination or whether the blue ink had got brighter.

 

It took a long time before the last trace of ink was gone, along with the remnants of Bodie's amusement. While Doyle hadn't complained, his upper back was an angry-looking scarlet. Bodie switched off the beginning-to-cool water.

"It's all off," he announced flatly.

"About time," grumbled Doyle, more from habit than conviction. Twitching a bath towel from Bodie's grasp, he briskly began to dry himself. "Stop looking so tragic and be glad it came off before we turned into prunes."

"I've rubbed you raw," said Bodie in a small voice, touching Doyle with a gentle finger.

Dropping his towel, Doyle gave him a brief one-armed hug followed by a mock clout round the ear.

"Silly sod. You should know better than to take any notice of me complaining. It's fine. It must look worse than it is, that's all," he added, when Bodie looked unconvinced.

"You must be sore, whatever you say. This might help." Bodie produced a bottle of baby oil from the cabinet behind him. "Turn round and I'll massage it in."

The novelty of staring at walls having worn off some time ago, Doyle did so without protest only because he recognised that behind his brightly brisk tone Bodie was feeling guilty.

As the oil soaked into his sore, tight-feeling skin, Doyle gave a voluptuous little wriggle.

"That feels wonderful. Don't rub it in everywhere though. I don't want to end up looking like one of those East European bodybuilders."

As relaxed as Doyle by now, Bodie gave a snort of amusement. "There's no danger of that."

"Are you saying I'm puny?"

"You're perfect." The conviction in Bodie's voice made Doyle blink before he recovered.

"Blimey. I'd best capitalize on this. It'll never last." Turning, he took Bodie's wrist before holding a greasy hand. "In case you hadn't realised, these last few weeks have been the happiest of my life. I can't remember if I thought to tell you before. You may as well bring that oil into the bedroom. I expect we'll be able to think of something interesting to do with it."

Bodie pounced just inside the bedroom door.

By the time they had to stop wrestling to catch their breath, they were lying at right angles to the foot of the bed. Baby oil streaked them both, carpet fluff adhering to inappropriate places as Doyle straddled his supine partner. Palms flat to the floor, his forearms banding Bodie's head, Doyle just stared at him.

Where in the past such a frank, searching scrutiny would have made Bodie twitch with self-consciousness, his confidence now was such that he just hooked an arm around Doyle's neck, drew his mouth within kissing distance, and got on with it.

Bodie's hands clamping their lower bodies together, mouths locked, they humped and ground their way to a climax, parting with slow, sticky sounds to lie side by side on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

Heavy-eyed and inarticulate, Doyle turned to look at his companion.

"I know," Bodie murmured lovingly, his thumb transcribing a soothing circle on his lover's upper arm. "I haven't been able to find the words either. I love you doesn't seem enough."

"Besides, it's been said before," said Doyle, off-hand now he had recovered.

That earned him a light cuff round the ear.

"Trust you," said Bodie with resignation.

Doyle leant up over him, suddenly serious. "You can."

Bodie's expression softened. "I know. And I do. Though I never thought I'd be able to say that about another human being again." Rather than a self-pitying demand for sympathy, it was a brisk statement of fact.

Doyle brushed the dark hair back the wrong way with his index finger before smoothing it flat.

"There's always Cowley. Not in this way, pillock. You know what I mean."

"While it pains me to admit it, I do. But I don't trust him. Not totally. Not any more. Do you?" Bodie added with genuine curiosity. Sometimes Ray betrayed a naivety which frightened him shitless; at others he could be more ruthless than the old man.

Doyle shook his head.

"Well, at least you've developed that much sense. Do you know you're covered in fluff?"

"Not until you hum a few bars," returned Doyle, never one to resist a predictable joke. "I can't face going under the shower again - or water at all come to that. I feel like a prune."

"That's just your wrinkles making you feel that way," consoled Bodie.

Feigning deafness, Doyle sat up and began to brush himself down; inevitably pieces floated onto Bodie, who gave him a look of patience before picking himself clean with a martyred air.

"Do you feel like humouring me?" asked Doyle as he got to his feet. "And don't say don't you always."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Silent suffering's more my style."

Doyle shook his head as if despairing of such powers of deception. "If it makes you happy to think so. What did you write on my back?"

Having knelt up so he could de-fluff a portion of Doyle's flank, Bodie made the elementary mistake of telling him the truth.

"'Mine all mine'?" echoed Doyle with disbelief.

"With an exclamation mark," added Bodie, with the air of one just as prepared to be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

Doyle rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "I wouldn't mind so much, but I am," he said with gloom, before he ruined the effect by giving a grin of pure satisfaction.

"That works two ways," Bodie assured him.

Unimpressed, Doyle scratched his stomach. "So I should hope. Does this mean I get to write on you when I feel like it?"

His reflexes proved more than adequate to evade Bodie's lunge in his direction.

 

THE END


End file.
